Wapiti

The indian name for elk. We have been chasing after Wapiti. The way the word sounds feels like a long journey. Not just finding an elk, but searching for Wapiti. If they hear you, good luck. If they are bedded down, they are like ghosts. Twenty of them can disappear into the landscape like leaves on the trees. Even if you stalk into a herd, if the wind is wrong and they get one whiff, they are gone.

Our morning hours of hunting have been getting earlier and earlier. This morning, we get up at 2:30am and prep for one of our favorite spots. The hike is a 3 mile uphill climb. The moon illuminates the night as my breath rattles, and I chug uphill. I have a strange feeling, an anticipation, and when I start to hear the bugles, my skin tingles. I feel alive, really alive when I hear an elk bugle. There is nothing that make me more alert, especially at 4am. We push on just below the summit where we plan to wait for legal shooting time, 30 minutes before sunrise when there is just enough light to see.

We stare at the top of a ridge, our destination with anticipation. At 6:00 we start moving. Slowly. Silently. Stopping every couple of steps to look and listen, we inch along. There is no sign of the Wapiti at the top of the ridge, so Ken and I start a traverse, following the sound of a bugle. Ten feet along the ridge, Ken freezes. Past him in the brambles I see what stops him – a giant antler rack, no wait two. The two bulls are in so thick in the brambles that all we can see are their antlers as they attempt to rub the velvet off. Ken motions for me to stalk. For the next five minutes I move down the trail to them, shaking a bit more than I want, but hey, I am twenty yards away from two giant Wapiti bulls! Before I can see more than their heads, the wind shifts and they catch me.

It isn't game over yet as we move further along the ridge and see some elk moving in our direction. We run a football buttonhook down through the trees to get into position with the wind in our faces and wait for the herd to cross on the game trail. Some of them go right where I want them to, but unfortunately none of the ones in my shooting range are legal. They are all spikes! Spikes are adolescent bulls that only have one antler point on each side. It is illegal and unethical to shoot them because they are, well, dumber than cows and bulls. The bulls head down the fenceline until they wind me and run. Such a Wapiti thing to do.